


Show Me the Light

by ogrevomit



Category: Lupin III
Genre: Gen, Murder Husbands, Nonromantic, melancholic, ok its kind of romantic, originalwork - Freeform, prose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-03
Updated: 2020-03-03
Packaged: 2021-02-23 05:37:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23006587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ogrevomit/pseuds/ogrevomit
Relationships: Arsène Lupin III/Zenigata Kouichi, Ishikawa Goemon XIII/Zenigata Kouichi, Jigen Daisuke & Zenigata Kouichi, zenigata
Comments: 6
Kudos: 16





	Show Me the Light

Whenever I’m alone my mind tends to wonder, and I unfortunately tend to be on my lonesome a lot. My job, ironically, centers around the company of other men and their search for the hordes of riches that lays dormant across the globe, and my job is to exist as their enemy and as an obstruction in their pursuit of criminal wealth. But despite being everywhere, be it back home in comfortable Japan or trapped in some horrendously gaudy European casino, there will be nothing but the dusty sky, the wailing in the streets, and grotesque stench of the city to keep me company. I’ll typically find myself in some decrepit motel in some foreign country in an unknown town with some lousy, uninteresting food and, if it’s one of those nights, a bottle to myself courtesy of the powers that be. Lucky for me, tonight is one of those nights, and it’s with that bottle that I find myself, yet again, out on a creaking balcony with my insides ebbing away at the thoughts of what could’ve been and what will never, and it’s all because of them.  


In my past I was younger, healthier, and cleaner, and I defined myself by youthful obedience and institutional dedication to the law. My eyes glistened with aspirations and dreams of climbing through the ranks despite all the sludge and muck that was thrown at me from those who wished to make me fall. My legacy and heritage were respectable, but also one of failure and vindication, and boy, were people inclined to remind me of who my daddy and granddaddy were! I could ask for some documentation on a suspect of mine and gets a huff and a scowl from one of the assistants. Anyone who believes bullying ends in adulthood is a coddled charlatan. A colleague would yell “Heads up!”, before they launch all my research at me, crumpled up and damaged, smirking and shouting “You left this over at the books, Zeni!” Thus, apathy and stoicism were necessary for my survival; the taunts and torments that came my way tended to go in one ear and out the other and did nothing to upset my stern brows and grimace. Strength was necessary too, or else when it was time to prove my physicality, I would find myself at the ridicule of what is natural to everyone. As a result, I was the loser if I didn’t win, so I made sure I always won, and I celebrated my victories with a quiet and solemn frown. I was not my daddy, and his legacy was gone, so I gazed into a darkless future with no foreseeable anxiety. I was a robot, I was a machine, I was the man! I was going to be better than all of them, and, to this day, I like to believe that I still am. I am Koichi Zenigata.  


In short, I was a hard ass, and that began to translate to my duties on the field too. The scoundrels and thieves of Tokyo became nothing more than a cross off the list for Koichi Zenigata - every bread thief, every fraud, and every drunk, and when my coping mechanisms had the ability to be utilized by a driving force, soon those who treated me with disdain and disregard were soon groveling at my feet and begging for my attention. There was a sort of popularity that came with isolation. “That Zenigata boy has so much potential!” a hushed whisper might say, only to be replied with “I agree, he’s truly a remarkable man,” as if those voices didn’t treat me less than dirt a few months prior. But despite the wicked smiles, the stifled handshakes, and the guilty eyes, I pressed on and ignored it all, as it was all I knew to do. I kept going, and going, and going, and refused to stop. This landed me with a dangerous, high-stakes task – the capture of the beautiful thief, Fujiko Mine. On one late night, the chief of police invited me into his smoke-filled office, figuring that since I was twenty-three and “acted like I hadn’t got my dick wet yet,” that I was “immune” to the saccharine charms of such a licentious, notorious crook. Whether or not he even knew of my capabilities, I have no idea. Regardless, a nod and a grunt were all I needed to convey that I agreed, and I left the room, passing by another officer on my way out. Curiosity pulsed through my brain, though, and I slipped against the wall by his office and pressed an ear against the wood.  


“So, I assigned that Zenigata kid to take down Mine.” The chief stated. I could hear liquid being poured into a glass. “Think he’ll last?”  


“Hopefully, he’s a good kid.” The officer chuckled. “It’d be a shame for the Americans to ship him back to Japan as a cum-crusted cadaver.”  


“I don’t think we’ll have to worry about that. The Zenigatas are all good people. Foolish, but good, and I think Koichi has his head on straight. Smart enough to fall the way his father and his father’s father did before.” The chief sighed. “Such a shame, all that raw talent wasted on one man. It’s like some generational dick-measuring contest.”  


“You think he might stray down that path too?”  


The chief gulped down a giant drink of something and gagged. “Doubt it. Heard the third never came to be across the pond, and I don’t think Koichi is gonna marry. Between you and me...,” he tipsily giggled, and there was nothing to hear after that but muffled whispers, a gasp, and a laugh. I rested my back against the wall and closed my eyes. I wondered what he meant by that, that “I’ll never marry.” Of course I’ll marry, just not right now! I was a busy man with a lucrative career ahead of me, so the prospect of entertaining a wife and family was something not worth my time, nor was romance or love or anything of that matter. I simply had never thought of it. There was, however, a more pressing concern of mine that I didn’t factor in. I was going to America!  


I liked to think that my English was passible given how much I devoted myself to my studies when I was young and emotionally vulnerable to all the scrutiny I faced, so I figured communication wouldn’t be much of an issue. But, it’s America; New York City to be exact when I was briefed the next morning! I didn’t show it, naturally, but I was absolutely terrified of being stationed in the largest city of a foreign country with little to no help; I was also guided to receive assistance from the NYPD, as if they were going to be of any value. It wasn’t just being alone, which I was used to; it was being alone, alone that scared me shitless! The night before I left, a celebration occurred at my station with all of my off-duty comrades, each of whom were absolutely drunk and magnificently horny. I didn’t partake in any of the revelry outside of a lone cigarette that I had brought with me, mainly because I knew tonight was going to be a long night. Officers lumbering around would attempt to brush shoulders with me with dull conversations and offers of alcohol as I stood in the middle of the room, straight-faced and surrounded by morons.  


Soon, the chief approached me, administering silence to the room “Koichi,” he slurred. “We’re all so proud of you! You have proven yourself to be quite the man around these parts, and, to that, we thank you for your service.” A roar of applause was a response, though my response in my head to those last words was, “Am I going to die?”  


He cleared his throat and put his arm around my shoulder. “If there’s anything you want before you leave, let us know. Booze, wine, a woman!” He enunciated the last part slowly, and roars of laughter and cheers came from the crowd. He gave a wink to the officer he talked to the night I was assigned the case.  


“I, uh.” I began. I just realized that I’ve never given a speech before. “I actually think I should get home soon.” A chorus of boos and aws were launched at me. “You’re no fun!” shouted someone obscured.  


“No, no!” the chief interjected. “Koichi is right. He has a huge week ahead of him and should probably get some shut eye. I don’t think he’ll mind if we continue here in his honor though, will he?” He nudged me in the rib.  


I scratched the back of my head. “Err. Sure. Don’t let me stop you all.” The officers cheered once more, and I left the party depressingly sober. When I exited the station, I looked up to see jubilant silhouettes jiving and dancing about the top floor of the station. Part of me hated their immature demeanor and reminded me that I was better than that and will soon rise above all of them when Fujiko Mine is handcuffed and behind the bars of justice, but another part of me lamented at how lucky they are to innocently and humanly revel in ecstasy. I could’ve too, but I taught myself not to, and now, I can’t. I can’t because, despite all my accomplishments and accolades, everything still hinges on what happens in America, and if I fail, I’m nothing more than another stain on the family tree.  


My daddy was gone, though I still believe him to be alive. But that was the end of my worries about him. Momma passed a few years back, and I found myself unable to mourn her loss, which still plagues me to this day. People seemed in awe that I didn’t shed a single tear when I loomed over her casket on the night of her visitation, and they, somehow, managed to conclude that my apathy was a healthy reaction. They thought my dry eyes were characteristics of someone strong and stoic, yet my reaction was that of someone who didn’t know how to react. When I gazed at her dead body, every miniscule function inside of me halted abruptly and left an unconscious dolt swaying in my place; my chest felt hollow and my brain had ceased functioning. It came to a point where I returned to my derelict apartment and just sat there in the dark, bathing in my own misery, alone and forgotten. For five years, that feeling of an abyssal void sucking in all of my humanity became a familiarity to me, and I did nothing to fight it.  


I’ve had myself as my only company ever since my early twenties, so it came as no surprise to me that no one wished to see me off. It was okay; I hardly cared at the time, but there was still a smidgen of sadness left over from the night before that stabbed me in the gut. It was one of those rare occasions that someone wishes they didn’t have the window seat; I would’ve asked the guy beside me to trade, but he was knee deep in his cassette player. All those feelings disappeared when the plane took off and everything went black.

“Excuse me, sir.” A voice purred. “I think we’ve landed.”  


I scrubbed my eyes clean of junk and adjusted my vision. The man next to me had woken me up. Drowsiness must’ve kicked me in the ass that day, because I must’ve ignored everything and everyone on the plane when I got on. The man had dark black hair and a crescent beard and twinkled at me with a combination of familiarity and curiosity. Though I could barely tell where his eyes were due to how bushy his hair was, what little I could see shone a glistening brown through curtains of black. “Ugh…,” I groaned “Where are we?”  


“We’re in Honolulu for layover. Man, you were knocked plum out the moment we took off!” he chuckled. “Was wondering if you were gonna be alive by the end of the flight.”  


I sank into my seat and pulled my hat over my eyes, letting out a tired whimper.  


“Hmph, I agree.” The friendly man replied. “Look on the bright side, though.” He paused for a second and looked vacantly out the window. I nudged my face up to look too, found nothing, and looked back at him in confusion.  


“Well, what’d you see?” he asked, his eyes directly on mine.  


“What?”  


“On the bright side, what’d you see?” He was biting his lower lip.  


I rolled my eyes, knowing where this absolutely terrible joke was going. The punchline was so obvious, yet so terrifically bold and bad and deadpan and dry. With all the strength I could muster, I fought hard against the small smile creeping onto my face. “Nothing.” I coughed. How pathetic was I that the small gesture of friendliness and comedy that a man I didn’t even know was enough to break my spirit and cause me to grin like some zealous idiot? Was I really that starved of human interaction?  


“Yeah, me either.” He grinned. “Heard there’s a bar in the airport, though. Wanna check it out?”  


Within thirty seconds of meeting this man, he was the closest I’ve ever gotten to know someone in five years. I nodded instinctively. I’ve never drank before, but, for some reason, I didn’t want to seem rude to the man; I felt like I’d let him down or possibly even make him sad if I didn’t accompany him since, after all, he was the one who reached out to me, and you’re not supposed to turn down a man who offers you a drink.  


The golden Hawaiian sun blasted me in my peepers when I got off the plane, and the sweltering heat immediately forced my coat off. I tossed it over my shoulder with nowhere else to put it but felt the need to put in on inside the cool airport terminal; the man likewise took his jacket off, but he hung his head low, hunched his shoulders, said nothing on his way in, despite initiating the conversation with me. I thought it was peculiar at the time, but I never considered it to be something much more illicit, sinister, and intelligent. The moment the bar was in his sights, he perked up and took to a swivel chair, and the bartender gave us a rough glare.  


“So!” the man rested his head on his hand. “How much you got on you?”  


I reached into my wallet and, to my dismay, found something absolutely dreadful. My money was there, but what little I had was all in yen. “Oh...” How foolish of me. I tried to be serious and looked to the bartender and the man. “Is there an exchange of some sort here?”  


The bartender shook his head.  


“Do you take Japanese checks by any chance?” I was desperate now.  


He gave a grimace, and the man interjected. “Excuse my friend, here. He hasn’t travelled out of country.” He turned to me. “So, where are you heading, Mr…?  


“Zenigata. Koichi Zenigata.” I gave a stiff introduction, and his eyes widened in response. I suppose he must’ve heard of me before, how lovely. My voice lowered from its pomp. “I’m heading to New York City.”  


The man regained control of his face. “You shouldn’t have any trouble converting your money once you get there then. But for now, you’re a sitting duck, and luckily, you have a friend.” The man put a hand of my shoulder and turned back to the bartender, missing out on my instinctual blush at such sweet words. “Two shots of rum, please.” The bartender nodded and withdrew a bottle and two shot glasses from the shelf behind him and sat them on the counter, pouring a brown, strong smelling liquid. The man took a whiff of the glass and exhaled.  


“Y’know, English sailors used to drink this stuff in order to prevent scurvy, as it was usually the only drinkable thing they had on their ships.”  


I tilted my head at the man. “What?”  


“It’s true.”  


“I mean, I believe you, but why are you telling me this?”  


The man frowned. “I suppose you’re a navyman of some sort, patrolling the waves and putting a stop to piracy and wickedness, just as your father and grandfather did, Koichi Zenigata. You tired yourself of Tokyo, so now you’re off galivanting across the world now.”  


I hung my head. “I suppose you’ve heard my name then.”  


“Everyone’s heard.” he stared at his glass. “You’ve got quite the legacy, and you should be quite proud of it. It takes a special kind of man to pursue the world’s most notorious thief across the globe.” He looked up at me. “I assume that’s what you’re doing in New York City? A native of Japan sent to a foreign land to bring his own people to justice. How odd.”  


“That’s classified.” I declared.  


“But it’s obvious, wherever he is, you follow, right?” The man plopped his coat on the countertop and began rummaging through the pockets. “You should be careful while you’re there, too. The Americans are a vindictive and petty bunch, and the war is still fresh on their minds. Don’t be surprised if you’re not treated with the respect we deserve.” He gestured towards the cynical bartender, who had been glaring at us through our entire conversation.  


“I don’t think Fujiko is the only criminal operating in the Big Apple.” He continued. “There’s a certain man that your dad and his dad were always after, and now the baton has been passed down to you. It’s the destiny that has been granted to you by some unknown societal and familial force to bring the gentleman thief to justice.”  


“He? Who is he?” I was on the verge of shouting, but I had to disguise myself with ignorance about Fujiko. As for the other man he was speaking off, I had no idea. It couldn’t be who I’m thinking of though. He’s a myth and a legend; he never existed. My new travel companion was sinister, and his actions began to start making less sense over time. “What are you talking about?” I demanded. “This invisible man you speak of doesn’t exist.”  


“Don’t let rumors ever transcend into facts, Zenigata. I know of the seedy underbelly of crime too.” He pulled me into a whisper. “…and between you and me, I hate Fujiko Mine’s guts with burning passion. That is why I’ve gotten to know your acquaintance. I believe you’re competent to bring her down, but she’s dangerous, and she’s not alone. So you need to best on your best guard and be prepared for anything she’ll throw at you.”  


“She has help?” I inquired.  


“A friend of mine who has strayed down a dark path is functioning as her right-hand man. See if you can bring him back to the path of light.” He grabbed me by the collar of my shirt. “…and if you do anything to him, you will pay. Understood?”  


I nodded, and he let out a sad sigh. “You’ll know him when you see him; I can’t describe it, but’s it’s like something innate within you that’ll clock this man. You’ll just… know it.” His words began to slow. “…and when you find him, tell him “Jigen” gives him his best regards, and that we miss him back home. Can you do that?” His stern eyes shone through his hair. This case was starting to turn scary, and I’m not sure if I wanted to continue it. But this hairy man with the extremely weird beard was clearly in a lot of distress, and as an officer of the law, I couldn’t say no.  


“I’ll tell him.” I said. He seemed to relax, which gave me the opportunity to return a blow of my own. I didn’t take too kindly to his forceful demonstration before, so I locked his head around my arms and purposely graveled my voice, leaning into his ear. “But if you ever threaten me like that again,” I growled. “I will castrate you and feed your shriveled dick to a pack of dogs. Understood?” I mimicked his “understood” with more annunciation.  


He gave a choked chuckle. “I think if we ever find ourselves in combat, Zenigata, it’ll be a hell of a brawl.” An announcement on the intercom announced the New York City flight was ready to depart, and I dropped the man and began my trip towards the airplane.  


“Wait!” he called. He ran up to me, carefully trying not to spill the shot glasses. “We never made a toast.” He smiled. I looked at the liquor with disdain, but I gave in. The man tossed it down his pipes like it was nothing while I heaved seconds after the rum hit my tongue.  


“Not much of a drinker?” He asked, patting me on the back. I shook my head, and he gave a laugh. “Makes sense. You get used to it after a while, though. I guarantee you’ll like what you’ll feel in a few minutes.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Anyways, I’m heading out to Vegas. Good luck, Zenigata, and thank you for your cooperation.”  


“You’re…” I gagged, clearing my throat. “You’re welcome.”  


“We’ll meet again once day.” He waved me off and headed for a different flight. I had a million thoughts on my mind by the end of our conversation, but none of which that could be answered because the alcohol began to kick in. My legs and ankles suddenly felt a million times lighter, and the edge that pierces my shoulders and back suddenly slipped away. I made my way to the plane, half loopy and half paranoid that the attendants knew that I was drunk off a tiny amount of rum. It was kind of pathetic in all honesty.  


When I climbed onboard, I quickly located my seat and made a quick pit stop in the lavatory; a mirror was stationed above the sink of the bathroom and caught my gaze. I stared into the mirror for what must’ve been fifteen seconds before a familiar grin made its way onto my face and made me giggle like a schoolgirl. There was a bang on the door outside, signaling my time in here was probably up. Scooting past an overweight man, I made my way back to my seat and relaxed my body. It felt as if my entire body was vibrating, like I was on the cusp of consciousness. Oh, how lovely it was to be relaxed, to be loose, to feel and be happy. I couldn’t remember the last time I felt this much glee, and I really wanted to share my happiness with others too! I wanted to wrap my arm around the stranger next to me, introduce myself, and tell him my life story about how secretly sad, melancholic, and depressing I am! Except now, there was a warm, embracing nudge in my chest that I didn’t know was possible, and it was all thanks to that man I met.  


And that was the realization that I had someone who liked me. I knew his name, Jigen. It set me over the edge. I curled a fist to my mouth and tried to wipe away the tears and snot forming from my emotions being shocked, and a flight attendant, out of some kind of witchcraft, brought me a box of tissue near instantly. My row buddy did not take too kindly to that.  


My body, however, tired from my brain from acting on thoughts of idiotic bliss, sewed my eyes shut with my tears, but that didn’t matter. The man trusted me; he liked me. I made a friend today, and I was happy about it.

A few hours later my eyes pulled my body awake again, and I was momentarily spooked to see my clouds outside of my window. I lifted myself from my seat to glimpse outside; dark clouds and grey haze had begun to swirl into a demented vortex, and wispy raindrops were forming on the window. Having never flown before, I was a bit worried, but I was more tired and dehydrated than anything. When I leaned back into my seat, a sticky sensation sent chills up my back and moisturized my neck; my temple was hot and damp, covered in sweat. Quickly, I took my heat-inducing coat off and returned to the lavatory. My eyes appeared bloodshot and sunken in the mirror, and sweat continued to form on my head, so I had to make do with the resources I had. The plane wasn’t friendly either; the storm outside was making it toss and turn and slid my face against the mirror, leaving a giant misty mark on it.  


I untucked my shirt and lifted it to dry off my back, but the sweat would simply drench me the moment I took the towel off my skin. My mouth quenched for the cold; I needed water, bad. Was dehydration at an altitude a legitimate concern? I had no idea, yet with a chest rapidly pulsing, and my breaths spilling, I thrusted my head under the faucet in an act of desperation, and a river of refreshing water bathed my tongue and restored my sanity. It was at that moment where I found myself shirtless, covered in sweat, and drinking water from a sink that I realized how bizarre I was acting. My stupor from earlier was clearly the fault of this; I, Koichi Zenigata, would not act like an animal just because I needed water. How silly of me to do so; I should clear my head and rest some more. I redressed, returned to my seat, sat my sweaty coat to the side, and closed my eyes, and I immediately opened them thirty seconds later when the plane touched down in New York City. Oh my God. Today, it began. Today began the time where I achieved my greatest victory over the criminal world and instilled my name in the hearts of every man, woman, and child as a bastion of justice, virtue, and morality and a rampart against the thieves who wish to pilfer the pockets of the innocent and the murderers and perverts who lurk in their necropolis of shadows and ruin. The various outcomes of my inevitable success boiled, and when they finished, they left wide-eyed, paralyzed, and alone in that airplane. Just because I achieved something in my head, doesn’t mean I achieved something, and my mind scolded me for how extremely unprepared and horrible dismantled I am for my grandest assignment yet. The fear, the angst, the anger, the sadness – black claws holding me against my seat, gripping my throat, suffocating me, laughing at me, hurting me. What could I do except prove them all wrong?  


An American poet might’ve looked upon my woes and concluded my reaction was a metaphor for the freedom and privileges America grants to those who escape the societal regimes back home, and to that, I’d say “shut the hell up.” It’s not the country or the society, it’s just the peers and it’s just the job. If I were in any other field, this wouldn’t be a problem, but I suppose I might’ve doomed myself with the Tokyo Metropolitan Police.  


It felt so bizarre to have all those feelings invade me at once, and the only thing I could muster was to belt out a hardy laugh inside my head. It was so absurd that it was that easy to unconsciously forget all of my sorrows, but when I actually thought about it, I would be too scared to try! One thing was for sure though, I had a job to do, and I couldn’t have my feelings mucking up my work. I have no doubt that I looked like a fool when I got on that plane in Hawaii, but it was a one-time thing, right? The liquor was obviously to blame here. But at the same time, I would be foolish to deny that my drunken tears were the best I ever felt in years. I’ve constructed myself in such an articulate manner and perfected the craft of sternness and silence, and there’s a good reason for that – I wanted to succeed.  


But is that worth a future of isolation? Will I ever find someone? Will I ever be able to enjoy? Was the identity I have chosen the right identity, do I know who I really am, and was this Zenigata the Zenigata who I wish to continue being? I didn’t know these were questions that needed to be answered, and that terrified me. Just how broken am I, and how did I not know?  


Two minutes later and I had not moved from my seat. A flight attendant that had been lingering near the back approached me and shook my shoulder, and before she could say anything, I stood and exited without a word. I heard her whisper to another woman I passed about those “weird Japanese”; Jigen was right, those Americans are still hung up about the war even though it ended twenty-five years ago. I mean, some of us are still dismayed, but we’ve mainly moved on; the level of distrust, disdain, and disrespect I’ve received from only two Americans is a bit hurtful. Just another problem on top of a mountain of them.  


I must focus, for me, for Jigen.  


Breathe in.  


1… 2... 3…  


Breathe out.  


I am Koichi Zenigata. Today, I will win. Today, I will make everything right.  


My luggage laid lonesome and small compared to the giant suitcases and families of packages. I packed lightly; didn’t think I’d need much since I was going to be in America for only a few days, so I have nothing but the essentials. Then, I went approached the door; a loud holler could be heard on the other side, along with colorful shapes hustling about. I was hesitant to open the door and purposely stalled my endeavor by remembering I need to exchange my yen for dollars. Dread overcame me as I left the machine; my legs quivered and my arms shook. My bones could very well be heard rattling. An older woman scooted by me at the door and walked out into the smog without a fear. If she could, so could I! I puffed out my chest and took a deep inhale, bursting into the sunlight of New York City.  


What I first noticed about New York City was that it was horribly loud and extremely impatient, and for most of my stay I had a throbbing migraine that shanked my skull with the annoyance of one thousand dull daggers. Also, it smelled absolutely horrific. Tokyo’s first impressions were largely the same, but the whole of Japan was such a quiet place that Tokyo seemed as if it were a twenty-four-hour carnival. If Tokyo is a carnival, then New York City is an insane asylum; I have absolutely no idea how anyone could function here. Right outside of the airport, a group of youths were haggling with a disheveled man dressed in rags. I couldn’t understand what they were saying, even though they were all yelling at the top of their lungs. One of the youths lunged at the man’s bucket and yoinked a few coins out of it and ran away, with the others following suit into a constantly shuffling crowd of nobodies. The man flopped on the ground and babbled more gibberish, rolling around in his own filth. No one seemed to pay him any attention. America truly is a chaotic place; I see why my assistance was necessary now. My nose soon breathed in too many urban fumes and refused to function if I didn’t shield it. There was a man I was supposed to meet here, but how was I supposed to find him such a thick crowd of people? It’s impossible!  


“Zen-uh-gayta!” cried a voice. “Is there a Zen-uh-gayta here?”  


The voice came from near the road, but the traffic on the sidewalk was too hectic for me to cross. I wish I could push through the people before me, but that would be terribly rude, and I wouldn’t want to ruin my first impressions and further ruin my day. I had to shimmy my way into the flood and navigate it carefully. First, I entered the lane of people closest to the airport doors, only for someone to crash into me; I was taller than most of the people around me, so I could see the man flashing a sign with my last name on it. I hurriedly waved my hand across and caught his attention.  


“What are you doing?” he yelled. “Come on, get over here!”  


This was going to take more force than I realized, so I closed my eyes and shoved my way through all the people in my way. I felt awful, but I had no other option. I turned back and caught many angry glares from people that continued on their way. The man hugged my neck with arm and laughed.  


“Liking your stay so far?”  


I had only been here thirty seconds, and I wanted to go home. He opened the door to a police car and gestured me to get in. “It might take a while to get to the department.” He rolled his eyes. “Bunch of protestors out today.”  


“Oh?” I feigned interest.  


“Take a look for yourself.” The car had traveled about fifty feet before it came to a halt. Clashing men and women met in the streets with their face’s red from screaming words that no one could hear; they seemed to not realize the signs they held were loud enough. Perhaps, it was the image. An image of an angry, ragged woman in the streets with her toddler daughter sitting on her shoulders and holding a sign high in the air with the words “END POVERTY” in blood red. Other signs caught my attention as well – “No War with Vietnam!”, “End Imperialism!”, “Eat the Rich!”, “The Blue Makes Red To Keep The Purple In Power”, “Out of Korea, Out of Iran, Out of South America!” Out of Japan, too. Please. American sailors are the most obnoxious people in existence. The icing on the cake was when I saw that the police were armed - armed with giant hoses, snarling dogs, and guns. Guns! Actual weapons being used against innocent civilians.  


“What the hell are they doing?” I exclaimed.  


“Protesting, like I said.” He huffed. “Blocking the road is what they’re doing. Perhaps it wasn’t the best idea to transport you in a police car, either. They’re gonna go ballistic!”  


“I meant the police. They have guns, actual weapons, pointed at citizens.”  


“In case the protesters get dangerous of course.” He replied. “And they will, trust me. I mean, look at them. Don’t those people out there look nasty, shifty, untrustworthy? Like criminals?”  


“How can one look like criminal?”  


“They just look…” A young man, at least sixteen or seventeen, wearing a colorful bandana came up to the car and pointed his finger at the driver and mouthed something that I couldn’t comprehend. “…like criminals. Don’t you agree? Would you trust this man?”  


I ignored the question for my own. “What’s the address of the station you’re taking me?”  


“240 Centre Street, why?”  


I opened the door of the police car. “No reason.” I frowned and slammed the door.

America seemed as if it was bursting at the seams. I knew the NYPD needed my assistance with Fujiko Mine, but this was nothing like I expected it to be; in fact, the NYPD seemed to be part of the problem from my observation. I exited the vehicle and returned to the horrible city streets. My defiance might’ve been a bad idea, as I was suddenly approached by several young men with snarls on their face; they were mad, justifiably mad, but I didn’t have the best image right now considering I was a seemingly devious individual emerging from a cop car.  


“What do you got to say?” he aggressively inquired. “What do you got to say to us today? It’s always the same old shit, no matter the month, the season, nothing.”  


The driver exited the car and put a palm to my chest. “This man isn’t from the United States, so you better not be causing him any trouble. He doesn’t know anything about our country and was curious.” He withdrew a baton and shook it at the young man. “Were you causing any trouble?”  


“N-no sir.”  


“Are you sure? Because I saw…”  


“Enough.” I interjected; I turned to the officer. “He thought I was someone else, a friend of his.” I turned to the young man. “Isn’t that right?”  


“Right!” He said matter-of-factly. “I’m real sorry about that, mister.”  


I raised my hand and lied. “It’s no problem. Lots of people find me frightening, so it’s nice to have someone think of me as a friendly face.” The young man and the officer shared a sheepish laugh, and I strolled off towards the street. I hate this place.  


“Mr. Zen-uh-gayta, wait!” The man called. “We got off on the wrong foot, my sincerest apologies. You have such a sharp mind though! Walking would be much faster; great idea!” he was talking about a million things at a million miles per hour. “Aren’t the Japanese real sticklers for efficiency? My deepest apologies, Mr. Zen-uh-gayta, for everything that went on back there.”  


I grunted in response.  


“By the way,” he cheered. “I’m Officer....”  


I trailed off there; I couldn’t care less about this cretin’s name, number, family, or sexual appetite. Thankfully, the natural sounds of New York City came useful. Right now, my mission is to bring Fujiko Mine to justice. She and her hidden compatriot are lurking through the grimy sludge of this horrible city, and I want to apprehend them as soon as possible and escape this putrid hellhole. Then, maybe then, I might try to fix myself once this is all over.  


“…and that’s why I became a police officer!” the man sang. He pointed a finger across my face. “Look, there’s headquarters. I figure I better get back to the cop car; I’ll meet you there, Mr. Zen-uh-gayta!”  


“It’s Zenigata.” I mumbled after he was out of sight.  


The NYPD headquarters looked unspectacular and exactly how I expected it, so at least it wasn’t too different from home. My entrance spurred concerned scowls from the other officers; they didn’t try to disguise their faces with smiles and politeness. I didn’t mind; that was none of my concern. Instead, I directly met with the chief, a portly, mustached man who burst out of his office with exuberance and pride and robotically stuck out his hand for a shake.  


“Mr. Zenigata!” he boomed. “It’s a fine pleasure to meet such a hardened officer of the law. I’ve heard of all your escapades from your commander; you’ve brought some big names down. Tonight, you might just well add another one to that list.”  


“Fujiko Mine?” I asked  


“Ah, yes. Ms. Fujiko.” The chief opened a filing cabinet and revealed a small manilla folder with little to no details. “She’s a slippery one, rumored to use some kind of feminine mystique to help her slide by authorities. I do like the looks of her.” The chief showed me a blurry picture of a normal-looking woman. “What do you think, Mr. Zenigata?”  


I scratched my head. “Uh… She’s fine, I guess.”  


“Damn straight, she’s fine! But that’s beside the point. We’ve heard something through the grapevine that she and two other accomplices might ransack Federal Hall tonight. Their target is George Washington’s inaugural Bible. Now, to a Jap like you this might seem arbitrary and delusional, but democracy and tradition are important aspects of the United States of America. That is why we cannot lose such a sacred treasure. Are you following me, Mr. Zenigata?”  


I remained austere despite his words. “Crystal clear.”  


“Fantastic.” He clapped his hands. “From there on, I’ll leave it up to you.”  


“To me?” I was confused.  


“To you!” He exclaimed. “I’ll let you do whatever you please to them, as long as you get them out of my city and on a one-way exile to Japan. All my men did the digging for you so all you have to do is swoop in and catch them. Just station yourself near the Bible or something.”  


“On my own!?” Or something?!  


“Don’t be silly, Mr. Zenigata. Someone will show you the way there. We’ll supply you…”  


Unbelievable. The audacity. The scrutiny. The corruption. I might as well fly myself back home, but if I did, I would fail those who placed their trust in me. The man, Jigen. What if his friend never ceases his life of crime? Jigen will never see him again! This is hardly about me anymore. The chief was talking but I interrupted him mid-sentence. I wasn’t listening anymore; I was in awe. “So you brought me here just to catch them? On my own. That’s it?”  


“Yes!” he answered. “Is that not what you’re known for? Staying hot on the trail and thinking quick in situations that demand it? Plus, you’re a Jap! Perfect for the job, plus think of it like a nice vacation away from that crummy island and all that smelly fish. We’ve got a nice room picked out for you; all expenses covered for a week.” He leaned into a whisper. “From our personal city funding of course, heh. The taxpayers will never know.”  


Wow. This would be great if I were a materialistic man; but for me, this wasted money makes my spirit sink into a gloomy doldrum. It’s no better than being a crook; in fact, it is theft! It’s a direct antithesis to what I wanted to accomplish here. But then again, no it wasn’t. I remember that I wanted to rise through the ranks, and I wanted the success, merit, and reputation that comes with it. I wasn’t going to pursue one superthief across the world; instead, I was going to strangle the daylights out of every gutter-rummaging vagrant stalking the streets at night. The scoundrels and thieves of Tokyo became nothing more than a cross off the list for the unemotional gruff named Koichi Zenigata – every bread thief, every fraud, and every drunk. They were the ones we could catch, the ones that could create an image of progression and bravery, and the ones who did not deserve their punishment while the actual criminals ran free, The Fujiko Mines of the industry and institutions that govern us all. I was not my daddy nor my granddaddy, but something far lesser and far less respectable. A cop.  


Who is Fujiko Mine, and what has she done? All I know is what I know from Jigen – that he believes her to be a horrible wench, and the fact that I’ve been sent across the world with such little detail sings an opera about the missteps of the police.  


But is that enough to arrest Fujiko Mine? I want to believe it is, Jigen seems like an honorable and noble man, but after everything I saw in the last few days, I don’t know anymore.  


In the end, tonight will be my first real job, and tonight will my final job for the Tokyo Metropolitan Police; I will no longer let them sap my soul and feast on my worries. I will not sow the seed of mayhem. I wanted to rise through the ranks, and I wanted success, but now I see this is not what I needed. What I did before was not justice, and hopefully the silver platter offered to me will be enough to let my consciousness rest at ease. If not, I don’t know what to do. I suppose I’ll find out. Either way, Fujiko Mine will go down, and he, whoever he is, will return home a rehabilitated man. It’s the fact that I could help a wayward soul return to those who love him. That was what makes me happy.

The sky was starless, and the moon was hidden away tonight; the cosmos all foresaw an inevitable conflict that'll light the streets of New York City. Federal Hall, on the contrary, housed no scandalous activity, and even the boiling heat of the protests had simmered. I plopped myself on a bench where the chief expected me to be; I hardly cared anymore. Neither did they, apparently. Minutes passed to hours and there wasn't a speck of dust out of place in Federal Hall, not that there was much worth stealing from here; this place was as old as sin and held no value except for history. I stretched my back and lamented towards the book; it was barricaded by pristine, smudgeless glass, though nothing else could prevent someone from yanking it from its pedestal. Even I could take it if it weren't for the cameras, though it was bad enough a Japanese criminal was targeting an American historical artifact. If a greedy Japanese cop took it, my head would be standing on the bloody spear of a pro-war protestor. Bad idea. Very bad idea.  


I noticed my shaky reflection in the glass thanks to a giant glass roof beaming directly over the pedestal. Taking a better look, I noticed my eyes were a lot darker than I remembered. Thick black circles had formed under my eyes, and my lashes were a bit frayed; I wondered how no one took notice to how ill I look. Capturing Fujiko Mine and being sent to America has definitely taken its toll on me, but, in a way, it's been a fairly great experience. I mean, everything involving this situation has been terrible, but the one upside from this was that I made a comrade and that I might save someone from a life of heinous crime tonight. I might sound like a broken record player at this point, but it's the thought that keeps me going despite all this malaise. The thought of saving someone from themselves saved me, and if it takes me travelling halfway across the world, humiliating myself in front of charlatans, and putting myself in danger, so be it. It gives me that warm feeling in my chest that everyone loves having, it makes me rest easy knowing I helped someone find something to do in their life, it makes me smile.  


It was in that moment of happiness that the glass ceiling above me shattered.  


Two individuals, a man and a woman, catapulted themselves directly in front of me; the man, who was dressed as a casual samurai for some reason, briskly disabled me and put me in a lock with a sword to my neck. The woman, who at this point I obviously realized was Fujiko Mine, effortlessly plucked the Bible from its pedestal and turned to me.  
"Say the word and I'll slit his throat and sever his arteries." The man deadly stated. A bit overkill if you ask me.  


"Unhand me!" I hollered  


Fujiko raised her eyebrows at my words. "I don't think that'll be necessary, Goemon." she defiantly stated. The woman tightly pinched my cheek and pulled me out of the pajama-clad samurai's grip. "What an interesting disguise you've mustered up, Lupin. You almost had us thinking we had some competition."  


Lupin. Of course he's here, of course he's alive, of course he exists.  


If my life wasn't damned enough, Fujiko then leaned in with a menacing smile, still squeezing my cheek with the strength of an elephant. "We don't have any competition, right?"  


I nodded, forcing myself to go along. She pushed me back into the warrior's, Goemon's, grip. "Good to hear. I have to admit, I do think you outdid yourself with tonight's disguise, Lupin. An on-duty abroad Japanese police officer is a bit specific, but still an effective take."  


"Not just any policeman." Goemon added. "Koichi Zenigata, one of the most battle-hardened cops the TMPD has to offer. He's been rumored to outpace any known criminal and has the most insane stamina known to man. You clearly did your research, Lupin."  


"If he's actually here, we'd better be careful." said Fujiko.  


"Pah, even with his supposed durability and attention to detail, Zenigata is out of his element here. I'd cut him down in an instant."  


I gulped; these people aren't like anyone I've dealt with before. They're actual criminals who are ready to kill on the moment's notice. If I valued my life, which I'm a bit sick of at this point, I'd need a silver tongue to suave my way through this predicament. I had an idea.  


"Plus, he's nothing more than a policeman." I somberly added. "Probably hasn't arrested anyone outside of petty thieves and homeless beggars. You can always build a reputation off of a thousand smaller victories, but then you have to wonder if those victories are even victories."  


"Wise words, Lupin." Goemon replied. "He's more of a janitor than anything and not even the respectable kind. He cleans up the muck from the streets only to toss it back out and punch in his timecard. Overestimating such a domesticated man would be a waste of time."  


Wow, that stung. I don't disagree with him though. What good have I done as a cop? Rehabilitation? There's not even enough crime in Tokyo to justify that. All those people were nothing but names to me.  


"By the way, Lupin." Goemon began. "You especially might need to start being more careful. If this Zenigata is in New York City, then he undoubtedly knows you're here, and we all know how reckless and impetuous you can be."  


"What do you mean?"  


"Remember Cairo?" Fujiko scoffed. "Amsterdam, Bangkok, Abu Dhabi? People are starting to know you're back, Lupin. Why else would they send a Zenigata to New York City? To catch Goemon and me?"  


"Maybe." I muttered. "Maybe he's after all of us. Who knows? Your name isn't very anonymous either, Fujiko."  


"But I'm still careful."  


"You broke through a glass ceiling."  


Her eyes gestured that she took offense to that. "All I'm saying Lupin is that you need to be more considerate of your actions if you're going to aid us with more heist. No running off on a moment's notice. No trying to nab extra goodies. Let today be an example, you did a good job stifling security." She turned to Goemon and stared at him with knowing eyes for a few seconds before speaking. "Let's head out. I assume you can find your way back to the motel?"  


Goemon did not react and Fujiko withdrew a grappling hook and lodged it onto the broken ceiling. Lupin was alive, and, as far as I knew, we are one in the same. Were they right about me though? Was I sent to New York City with the hopes of catching Lupin? Was the chief's conversation back in Tokyo nothing but a sham? I was sent to a city where the renegade Lupin the Third would undoubtedly appear, and they would thank me for my service. The legacy was going to end tonight when my blood would splatter over the stone walls of Federal Hall. In the corner of my eye, I could see the samurai staring at me with deep, unnerving eyes all the while. He knew; he absolutely knew. I think they both knew, they all knew, but that would hardly matter in a few seconds. I am Koichi Zenigata, and I was going to prove them all wrong. I looked up at the slowly propelling Fujiko Mine, who gave a light smile and a friendly wave. The slight sound of metal unsheathing and scraping a scabbard was enough indication that, yes, they knew.  


I let out a deep sigh; this was something I'm going to have to do, isn't it? I'm so tired at this point, but why give up and die when I can live and give up? It's more interesting that way. Goemon launched himself at me, but I quickly dodged his attack, much to his surprise. I don't see why; it was a very weak attempt at my life.  


"I don't see how you think your fists are any match for my blade." He taunted. "But if it's an honorable death you want, Zenigata, then it's an honorable death you shall receive."  


This time, I was too slow. Goemon slightly slashed me in the abdomen with his sword, and blood began to stain my clothes. I stumbled against the stone wall and hit the back of my head, but I refused to fall; I would not lose. I wiped my nose and took a defensive stance, beckoning him to come. When he came running for a third attack, I tackled his legs and smashed him onto the ground under my weight. With my legs between his waist, one hand burying his head on the concrete floor, and the other binding his hands, I handcuffed him and left him kicking, wallowing, and blushing in his awe-struck shame. My victory had not come yet, and that was when a bullet rifled through the air and pierced me in the shoulder. Fujiko was dangling with one arm with a pistol in the other.  


"Don't move." she grimly ordered. I sank to my knees. Her saccharine mannerisms were null and void at this point, and the dark aura that surrounded her heart had burst from her lungs. "I'm personally not a fan of killing, but your little ruse ends here. Uncuff Goemon, and I'll spare you."  


And then he'll just kill me; this was a lose-lose situation. I noticed a clamoring on the roof. My eyes followed a shadow was shifting around on the roof, crawling about towards the top like a curious cat following the scent of tuna. I remained silent to the chagrin of the murderous Fujiko. "Fine then." She started nudging her way down the grapple before a soft, song-like voice hummed through the open glass.  


"Fuuuujicaaakes..."  


By now, we all knew who it was. Lupin the Third needed no introduction.  


"Fujiko, what are you doing?" He asked half-bored, half-confused. "Shouldn't you two have already finished up in here? You're not praying for forgiveness, are you?"  


"Kindly shut the hell up, Lupin." she barked. "Can't you see we're in trouble here?"  


"Oh." He put a finger to his mouth. "I see..."  


"Give us a hand why don't you? Or two would be nice since Goemon can't use either."  


"Aha, of course!" he clapped. "I'll give you a hand. Alley-oop!"  


Lupin the Third slid himself down the grapple, and his rear-end clumsily knocked Fujiko off of her hook and made her tumble face-first to the ground, the Bible alongside her.  


"Oh dear, Fujiko!" he called. "I'm so sorry!"  


He slid down, and by slid, I mean scooted. I hid my head. This was the man who was going to kill me; a man trying to clumsily catch the jewels drooping from his pockets. How embarrassing. Footsteps towards my direction were in my peripheral, and I heard a clicking noise. I didn't want to meet my killer, but I had to look. The barrel of a gun found itself pointed directly at my forehead; my heart stopped beating before a bullet was even fired. My eyes met a scrawny young man with a manic, toothy grin and a bright green coat bulging with all sorts of opulence; emeralds, topazes, rubies, and jades of all tiny sizes carelessly trickled out of his pockets and onto the ground. He didn't seem to care, for he had more than enough loot to feed his bank account. The man hadn't gone to Federal Hall, and his devious lavishness could be seen from a mile away! I figure the man must've wanted to be seen; he had a reputation, a brand, a name, a legacy. Lupin the Third. A name that I knew, and a face that I will forever recognize.  


Despite the grim situation, I refused to let my scowl rest. But it didn't last.  


"There, there, mister." The devilish man cooed. His voice was much calmer than his face suggested, though his gun was still pressed against my temple. "Such pretty eyelashes weren't built for those giant tears of yours."  


He gently brushed his thumbs against my eyes and cleared the water from them; his smile hadn't faded. "I like your hat." he whispered. "I like the shadow it casts; makes me want to look into your eyes so much more." This was my last chance to be victorious; I must win at all costs. He grabbed me by my chin and nuzzled his noise against mine. Even with all his incessant flirting, the gun was still at my head.  


Trembling on my knees, I stared into the gaping maw of death itself, and death to me was an unhinged, vindictive maniac. "Lupin the Third." I croaked; I was losing a lot more blood. "Do you have any friends?"  


Befuddlement crossed his face. "I do. Why?"  


"Have you ever loved?"  


"I have. Sweet, sweet Fujiko for one, and another." His smile faded. "One I have shamed so terribly bad."  


"Jigen." I wheezed, grabbing his pants legs and struggling to stay up. "Jigen, it's Jigen. R-right?"  


He did not answer.  


"He told me to give you his best regards..."  


Tears were forming in the glassy eyes of Lupin the Third.  


"He told me to tell you that he misses you..."  


He dropped his gun onto the cold floor, and an explosive echo discharged the black room. Lupin the Third’s eyes transformed into a ghostly white, and his lifeless body toppled over onto mine, bleeding from his stomach. It’s all over; I had won.

But I was still alive. To tell the truth, I don’t remember much of what happened after that. Smoke rose from Fujiko Mine’s unforgiving gun, though her face was showered with an expression of disappointment and sorrow; I have no idea if she meant to shoot me or him, and, frankly, it doesn’t matter. She rubbed the back of her head and hustled over to our barrow, nicking the keys to Goemon’s handcuffs from my pocket and ignoring if I was alive or not.  


"We've got to get out of here!" she exclaimed. The wailing of distant sirens could be heard; Fujiko applied her grapple once more and hurriedly began to climb it; a stiff Goemon followed suit but looked back at Lupin and me on the floor with an anxiety. He had undoubtedly heard our conversation and was hesitant about leaving, though if I were him, I would've left us on the floor to rot too. He didn't do that though.  


"I'll rendezvous with you later, Fujiko. You should leave now; you're hurt." He called. Fujiko crept out of Federal Hall with a word. The samurai sheathed his sword and pulled Lupin off of me; he was absolutely unconscious. My eyes fluttered and adjusted to the bushy haired man looming over me, giving me a spook and shielding my face with my eyes. Goemon threw off his robe and began unwinding the bandage around his abdomen. First, he wrapped it around the unconscious Lupin's stomach and then began with me.  


Goemon took off my coat and lifted up my shirt to, his disdain, find the gash he caused. "I have to apologize about that." He lamented. "It does appear to have stopped bleeding though." The cotton wrapped tightly around my stomach and caused me to wince in pain for a few moments; then, he took a look at my shoulder.  


"What exactly are you doing here, Officer Zenigata?" He inquired. "Your ancestors have chased Lupin's for a century now, but you didn't seem to know of his existence." He tightened the bandage. "Or did you refuse to believe?"  


I tried to stand up. "I... Agh!" But to no avail. "I was sent for here for Fujiko Mine initially. Catch her red-handed, ship her back to Japan, lock her behind bars, and throw away the key. But ever since my mission was assigned, things have gone much differently than I expected. I met at a layover in Honolulu, Jigen."  


"I know Daisuke Jigen very well." Goemon stated. "We're close acquaintances, though I'll never be as close as to him as Lupin is."  


I looked over at the sleeping beauty. "So they are close?"  


"Inseparable, though Lupin isn't the most loyal man in the world, and I have many personal qualms with him. That didn't stop him from joining Fujiko and me on several missions, some of which I believe they were getting too close." The distraught Lupin was surrounded with all the jewels he had pilfered earlier. "He has an insatiable appetite too. Whenever Lupin sets eyes in something shiny and new, it's hard to wean him off of it. I saw what happened; he took a real liking to you the moment his eyes met yours." He leaned in closer to me. "You're quite lucky Fujiko made that error. Not only for your life, but whatever Lupin was going to do to you, well, it's probably would be best not to know."  


"What do you mean?" I stuttered.  


"Lupin tends to find himself attached to people he likes." Jigen stated. "Fujiko was the same way; he's absolutely obsessed with her, and sorrowful Jigen was left for the dogs whenever Lupin was done with him. It's a phase though, at least, I think so. I hope so. There are some days I can't stand being around either of those two."

"He said my eyebrows are pretty." I whispered.

Goemon turned to me with unforgiving eyes and took a deep look at my soul. "They are pretty."  


I blushed. "Are you close to Fujiko?"  


"You could say that." He snickered. "She is a tough woman with a bit of a dark side; I like that about her. It's something Lupin isn't built for though. I've told him to make amends with Jigen, but my words would just go out the other ear. How are you feeling by the way?"  


"Weak..." I mustered.  


"You must stay strong. Whenever the police arrive, they'll be sure to call an ambulance for you two. Until then, I refuse to leave your side, Koichi Zenigata. You have my word."  


"Why are you helping me...?"  


"Him." Goemon exhaled and pointed at Lupin. "I couldn't bring myself to kill you, not after what you did for Lupin. I may dislike him, but you were surrounded by three deadly criminals with dangerous weapons ready to strike, and you refused to forsake your promise to Jigen. For that, you deserve an accolade for braving the hailstorm of slaughter and torment that the world wrought upon you, not a punctured heart and a split skull. You are an honorable man, Koichi Zenigata. More so than any of us."  


"Jigen is an honorable man."  


"Jigen is a thief like the rest of us, but he had been overcome with such wretched sorrow that he has been inactive as of late. He doesn't trust Fujiko either; I don't blame him. I might find myself straying down the same lonesome path as him sooner or later." He clenched his fist. "It might be better that way."  


"What do you mean better?"  


"I've found myself slipping away from contact with others. A loss of faith, perhaps? No matter what, there's always something plaguing us as of late, be it Fujiko's incessant deviousness or Lupin's lawless pursuit of wealth, fame, and legacy. I suppose a legacy is something you're not interested in."  


"My issues with legacy are complicated. I drove myself to stray from my legacy, to fight against the roles assigned to me because of my legacy, and become better than my legacy, and look where it has landed me. Shrouded in darkness. But when I first laid eyes on Lupin, I don't believe he was interested in his legacy. The free-spiritedness. I believe him to be interested in himself. That is why he acts that way, and he may not seem like it at first, but he cares about you all. When he reacted to Jigen's name, I saw it in his eyes. The fear, the guilt, the paranoia, the mistakes and sins he has committed."  


"Still, sometimes he has a hard way of showing it." Goemon continued. "I think of myself as an honorable man, but recently, especially tonight, I'm beginning to have doubts in myself and my partners. I love them all despite their flaws, but I don't know if I can handle it anymore."  


“I know all about that lonesome path, Goemon." I rasped. "Whatever you do, don't go down it. Never go down it, or you'll never come back. In a world full of light it is the only area of the planet where it is endlessly dark, and I have been its only inhabitant for the last five years, aimlessly sitting amongst the gray skies, the rotting leaves, the corpses of trees, and the skeletons that pass you by on the street every morning, noon, and evening. You'll eventually become numb to the unconsciousness around you, and your body will never be able to create a pleasant experience again. There is no warmth, and there is no fulfillment; that abyss where your heart should be is black and hollow. A lake of black that doesn't reflect the stars in the sky and doesn't ripple from any stone tossed. Instead, time is eternally stagnant, and space is contorted into an everlasting open. You can do nothing about it, nothing except exist."  


I was out of breath. Snot was building up in my nostrils and tears brushed my eyes once again as I finished my cacophonous rampage. Goemon sat towards me with his jaw dropped, his hair standing on edge. No doubt I had creeped him out, but to my surprise, he grabbed me by my hands and smiled for the first time since our encounter.  


"Thank you." he said. "Thank you for telling me that; I think you've helped three men today, and I'm sorry you ever felt that way." He tipped his head and raised an eyebrow; he then rubbed a hand against my bristles and pulled the same tactic Lupin did with my tears. "You know what, Koichi Zenigata? Lupin was right about one thing. You are, indeed, a very beautiful man."  


To hear those words warmed my heart, especially since I had never said so much at once before. I couldn't help but give a goofy grin. It felt... good! It felt good to hear myself acknowledge my inner demons, and it felt especially good that someone was willing to listen to me. It was then that I realized I have two friends now. I have helped them conquer the trials the stand before them, even though they are criminals, thieves, and scoundrels. They are all those things, sure, but they are also human. They are like me, and they like me too. I am their friend. They treated me with kindness and dignity. They treated me more like a human than any cop ever has, and they barely even knew me. To them, I wasn't my daddy or my granddaddy. I was Koichi Zenigata, and tonight, I had won. I won their hearts and their minds. The fidgeting Lupin caught my attention, making me realize that I might actually have three friends now, and from what I've heard, he'll definitely consider me a friend too. There was a sinking feeling in my gut, though, one of an inexplicable, existential dread. Lupin the Third as a friend... I had no idea whether that was good or bad.  


Voices could be heard downstairs, and Goemon immediately sprang up. "Koichi Zenigata." He bowed. "If our paths ever cross again, I will always consider you an ally." With graceful, agile silence, Goemon launched himself through the glass ceiling, and my vision started to fade. I closed my eyes for a minute before the NYPD found me huddled against the wall of Federal Hall. Lupin the Third was nowhere to be found.

I woke up in a hospital bed in a beige room, accompanied by a single nurse. Five days later. My pain was vacant, but not gone. I attempted to sit my back up only for every bone in my shoulder to betray me and my gut to quake into itself.  


“Well, look who’s awake!” the oblivious nurse cheerfully said. Oh God. “You feeling any better?”  


“Ulck.” I gagged. “Not really.”  


“Well, you just missed some visitors. A mysterious group of men came into your room. One of them was dressed in all black and a fedora and another wearing some pajamas of some sort. They both had big heads of hair too!” The nurse gestured Goemon and Jigen’s bushy heads. “One of them was asked to leave a note for you. It’s inside that card on the desk next to you.”  


A prim pink card with hearts and swirls decorated over it housed an envelope of some kind and a message. Inside, the card read “Get well soon!” as it’s default message and played a horrible sounding tune from a crummy speaker. I ripped open the envelope to find three individual sheets of paper, each of Goemon, Jigen, and Lupin. It was at that moment my chief barged through the door.  


“Koichi!” he belted, hugging me tightly. “Koichi, I came from Japan as fast as I could when I heard you were shot and stabbed and pummeled and pushed! I thought you were dead! What on Earth happened?”  


I looked at the letters and then up at the Chief. “I wish I knew.” I sighed.  


The chief narrowed his eyes. “It’s Lupin the Third, isn’t it?”  


I gave a cautious grin, and his eyes maddened. “I knew it. All these years you’ve spent on force are gonna go to waste now thanks to that one man.”  


“Chief, I…” I tried to explain, but it had no effect. His mind was made up; he did the hard part for me.  


“Koichi Zenigata, you are hereby terminated from the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department. Hand over your badge.” He demanded. I pointed to my outfit in the nearby chair and he swiped the badge from my coat. “By the way, good luck getting back to Japan.” He stomped out of the room.  


“Oh shit. I didn’t expect that!” exclaimed the nurse outside in a more mannish voice. She entered the room and her flesh began to peel from her face like some demonic candlewax, revealing the face of Satan himself under it. “I called him over in hopes he’d congratulate you, Zenigata, but I suppose that was a bad idea on my behalf.” Lupin said, twiddling his fingers. There’s no need to apologize for that, but something innate within me prevented me from telling him that. Pah, let him live with the guilt.  


“Why are you here?” I asked begrudgingly. At this point, my questions about the logic of this man seemed worthless.  


“I just wanted to make sure your pretty eyelashes are doing okay. That’s all.” he grinned. “Also, I wanted to see your reactions from the letters me, Goemon, and Jigen wrote you.”  


I grunted. “So, no apology from that Fujiko Mine, then?”  


“Her apology is gonna pay for your trip back to Japan.” Lupin pulled out the inaugural Bible from his nurse’s gown. God damnit! That bastard has me in the palm of his hand. I rolled my eyes at him; I’ve had enough of this for one lifetime. He raised a finger. “I’ll be right back, Mr. Zenigata! I’ll give you time to read our letters!”  


Lupin the Nurse sprinted from my doorway and off somewhere into the corridor. I expected the letters to be longer, but each one of them simply said “Thank you,” with Lupin’s having an addition smiley face drawn on the bottom of the page and with a damning “P.S.: You’re paying for the hospital bill. Love Lupin.”  


“Have you read our notes?” Lupin’s head peeped from the doorway.  


“I have. They were, uh, very thoughtful.”  


Lupin got excited. “Great! Me, Jigen, and Goemon have actually decided to start working together. We’ll be an unstoppable team of bandits, crooks, and ne’er-do-wells.”  
I groaned and sank into my hospital bed.  


“Zenigata, I’ve also got to admit something.” Lupin held his hands together and swung his shoulders. “We, uh, we all like you…”  


“Like me?”  


“Like you.” He blushed. “And we wanted to apologize to you with authenticity about everything that happened last night and thank you for bringing our family back together, and we were wondering if you’d like to join us.”  


“Join a gang of criminals?”  


“I don’t think we’re criminals, I think…”  


“Hard pass.” I quickly answered. “I’m no crook, even if the law has failed me.”  


“I figured you’d say that, so I prepared a realistic backup option. You’ve got your job back.”  


“What?!”  


“Well, sort of. Hold onto your britches though, because that’s not the best part! Prepare for the phonecall of a lifetime, Mr. Zenigata.” He grinned, jumping up and down. “Or should we call you, Inspector Zenigata of ICPO now?”  


“WHAT?!”  


A crescent-beaded nurse by the name of Jigen entered the room. “A phone call of a Koichi Zenigata, hero of all mankind, chaser of the scoundrel Lupin the Third and his posse of dangerous thugs.”  


“I’d pick it up.” input General Surgeon Goeman from the hallway. “It sounds spectacularly important.”  


A ringing cellphone on a platter was plopped atop my wounded stomach; the three fools surrounded my bedside, each at one corner to prevent my escape. This is how they repay me, huh? I closed my eyes and picked up the phone, had my say, and hung up. The three children stared at me – Goemon with his dead expression, Jigen with his hidden eyes, Lupin with his rascally face, but I sat in silence until I felt it necessary to break it. I needed to enjoy my last moments of peace and quiet before I could continue living in this hell I had created.  


“Could one you pass me my luggage over there?” I pointed at the chair. Jigen handed me my briefcase and coat, and I began rummaging through them. I gave a warm smile to the three. “It’s a shame my chief took my badge. I would’ve loved to have kept it for novelty, y’know.”  


“Again, I’m real sorry about that.” Lupin playfully lamented.  


“Not a worry.” I grunted, trying to rise. Lupin bent over my bed to help me to my feet and calmly placed my bare feet on the cold floor. I rummaged through my bag, still wobbly and shaken from what happened that night, and withdrew my coat, placed it over my hospital gown, and donned my hat. “I’m Inspector Zenigata now.” Lupin’s eyes lit up, a smile crossed Jigen’s face, and Goemon gave a stern nod.  


“So, what’ll you do now, “Inspector Zenigata”?” Lupin pushed his nose to mine.  


“What I was made to do, my friends.” I pushed mine back into Lupin’s face, the man who pointed a gun to my dome and flirted with me, and scraped my voice lowly against the walls of the room. “Win.”  


And to this day, I haven’t won yet, but someday I will, and someday this will all be over. Then, I can finally relax. At least this time, the loneliness isn’t permanent, and I know there are people out there that like me for who I am. They all care about me, and that makes me happy. It makes me warm and full. But I am still a tired man. Don’t I deserve some rest too?


End file.
